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Overview

It was between seven and eight o'clock on a March evening, and all overLondon the bars were being drawn back from pit and gallery doors. Bang,thud, and clank. Grim sounds to preface an evening's amusement. But nolast trump could have so galvanized the weary attendants on Thespis andTerpsichore standing in patient column of four before the gates ofpromise. Here and there, of course, there was no column. At the Irving,five people spread themselves over the two steps and sacrificed in warmthwhat they gained in comfort; Greek tragedy was not popular. At thePlaybox there was no one; the Playbox was exclusive, and ignored theexistence of pits. At the Arena, which had a three weeks' ballet season,there were ten persons for the gallery and a long queue for the pit. Butat the Woffington both human strings tailed away apparently intoinfinity. Long ago a lordly official had come down the pit queue and,with a gesture of his outstretched arm that seemed to guillotine hope,had said, "All after here standing room only." Having thus, with a merecontraction of his deltoid muscle, separated the sheep from the goats, heretired in Olympian state to the front of the theatre, where beyond theglass doors there was warmth and shelter. But no one moved away from thelong line. Those who were doomed to stand for three hours more seemedindifferent to their martyrdom. They laughed and chattered, and passedeach other sustaining bits of chocolate in torn silver paper. Standingroom only, was it? Well, who would not stand, and be pleased to, in thelast week of _Didn't You Know?_ Nearly two years it had run now, London'sown musical comedy, and this was its swan song. The stalls and the circlehad been booked up weeks ago, and many foolish virgins, not used toqueues, had swelled the waiting throng at the barred doors becausebribery and corruption had proved unsuccessful at the box office. Everysoul in London, it seemed, was trying to crowd into the Woffington tocheer the show just once again. To see if Golly Gollan had put a new gaginto his triumph of foolery--Gollan who had been rescued from a life onthe road by a daring manager, and had been given his chance and had takenit. To sun themselves yet once more in the loveliness and sparkle of RayMarcable, that comet that two years ago had blazed out of the void intothe zenith and had dimmed the known and constant stars. Ray danced like ablown leaf, and her link aloof smile had killed the fashion fordentifrice advertisements in six months. "Her indefinable charm," thecritics called it, but her followers called it many extravagant things,and defined it to each other with hand-wavings and facial contortionswhen words proved inadequate to convey the whole of her faery quality.Now she was going to America, like all the good things, and after thelast two years London without Ray Marcable would be an unthinkabledesert. Who would not stand forever just to see her once more?

It had been drizzling since five o'clock, and every now and then a lightchill air lifted the drizzle and half playfully swept the queue from endto end with it in one long brushstroke. That discouraged no one--even theweather could not take itself seriously tonight; it had merely sufficienttang to provide a suitable ap�ritif to the fare in front of them. Thequeue twiddled its toes, and Cockneywise made the most of whateverentertainment provided itself in the dark canyon of the lane. First therehad come the newsboys, small things with thin, impassive faces and waryeyes. They had flickered down the queue like wildfire and disappeared,leaving behind a trail of chatter and fluttering papers. Then a man withlegs shorter than his body laid a ragged strip of carpet on the damppavement and proceeded to tie himself into knots until he looked as aspider does when it is taken unawares, his mournful toad's eyes gleamingnow and then from totally unexpected places, in the writhing mass, sothat even the most indifferent spectator felt his spine trickle. He wassucceeded by a man who played popular airs on the fiddle, happilyoblivious of the fact that his E string was half a tone flat. Then,simultaneously, came a singer of sentimental ballads and a syncopatedorchestra of three. After they had scowled at each other for a moment ortwo, the soloist tried to rush things on the possession-being-nine-pointsprinciple, by breaking into a wailing _Because You Came to Me_, but theleader of the orchestra, handing his guitar to a lieutenant, proceeded tointerview the tenor, with his elbows out and his hands lifted.

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Product Details

About the Author

Elizabeth MacKintosh (1896-1952), best known as Josephine Tey, is one of the most respected and influential authors in the mystery genre and regarded by many one of the best mystery novelists ever. Her novel, The Daughter of Time, was selected by the British Crime Writers’ Association as the greatest mystery novel of all time and The Franchise Affair, starring her most famous character, Inspector Alan Grant, was 11th on the same list of 100 books. She also used the pen name, Gordon Daviot, primarily to publish plays.

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

Almost unreadable because of bad formatting. One line is followed by one 1/3 the length and on and on. I have learned to get a sample if available so you do not get trapped into a purchase for something you just have to delete.

choochee

More than 1 year ago

I found Josephine Tey by accident while looking for mysteries on the Barnes and Noble website. The reviews intrigued me and I decided to order the first book in the Inspector Grant series. What a great decision that turned out to be! Josephine Tey is a brilliant writer with extraordinary talent. It's true, as the other reviewers noted, that her books are very different from most mysteries. They are full of beautiful images, wonderful settings, interesting characters, and well-developed plots. I can't wait to read the entire series and I only wish there were more of her books to devour.

DeltaQueen50 on LibraryThing

4 days ago

The first book in Josephine Teys¿ series that introduces Scotland Yard¿s Inspector Alan Grant, The Man In the Queue is a fascinating look at the solving of a murder in the days before forensics and computers. A deceptively simple murder of a man standing in line for a theatre performance. Unfortunately neither the identity of the victim or the murderer will come easy to Inspector Grant.The story follows along as the Inspector painstakingly tracks down each miniscule clue in order to firstly identify the man that was stabbed in the back, and then to build a picture of his life and who was in it that could possible be the murderer. The story, the language and it¿s careless and casual racism are all a bit dated, but it is interesting to look at this early mystery of hers simply for the influence she has had on future writers. Her many references to World War I, even years after that event, certainly highlight the impact this war had on a generation. Although the ending seems to come out of the blue, the clues are there, but as we are so firmly embedded in Alan Grant¿s mindset, we, like him, don¿t pick them up.The story, like the solving of this murder, tends to plod along until we switch to the Scottish Highlands, at that point the story took off for me, and I read avidly to the end. I would say not the best of her work, but certainly interesting enough to encourage me to continue with the series.

Eyejaybee on LibraryThing

4 days ago

Rather a disappointment. I had looked forward to reading this book, remembering how much I enjoyed Tey's "The Daughter of Time" which I read as a teenager more than thirty years.Sadly this book had noting of the sterling qualities of "The Daughter of Time", and subsided into mindless tweeness lacking any semblance of feasible plot or plausible characters.

mmyoung on LibraryThing

7 days ago

Although an ¿interesting¿ first mystery novel -- and a very promising one -- this book has a number of flaws. It is unclear what ¿type¿ of mystery novel Tey (Elizabeth Mackintosh) was attempting to write. Was it a police procedural? An action adventure? A discourse on the realities of justice? Insightful examination of the moral and intellectual quandaries of a detective? All these different types of mystery novels seemed to have been wedged together into one and unfortunately, the seams do show. At different times in the book the writer functions as a disinterested observer of life, as the omniscient recorder of the thoughts of all the characters and as a disembodied ¿I¿ who knows and interacts with the detective. Tey¿s writing shows great promise and even with the technical difficulties mentioned above this is certainly a book that would be enjoyed by most fans of the British murders mysteries written in the 1920s.Spoilers ahead.The last few lines of the book ask the reader to consider the question of who has been the villain. The person we finally come to realize did the murder? Most people would argue no. The person who was murdered? One could make a good argument that that was the case. Or are we to think of the person whose actions motivated the behaviour of the murderer? It is perhaps only in retrospect and after years of public education that readers are likely to realize that the core story of this novel is that of a man who continues to feel ownership of a woman who has long since left him behind. One might even say that he becomes a stalker. Certainly at the time this was first published there would have been many who would have felt far more sympathy for the man whose disappointment in love leads him to suicide than for the woman who rejected him. Indeed the writer, and the major characters, do not seem to be excessively concerned that this man was willing to kill a woman rather than ¿lose" her. When once one realizes that this is a story about a woman lashing out to protect another woman from a man who is willing to commit murder-suicide then the story changes from one of cozy murder into a frightening glimpse of how little things have really changed in the last 100 years.

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

kyohin

More than 1 year ago

I enjoy a good mystery, and this one suited me right down to the ground.

WheelchairLady

More than 1 year ago

I really enjoyed the mystery since I wasn't able to figure out any of it until it was revealed. I would have given a five-star rating. Except I have to admit I really didn't understand or care for the style in which it was written. Lines break up in unexpected places, which I believe is called the "poetic" style. As much as possible, I just ignored where the lines ended and actually read it according to punctuation. The book was very enjoyable. In spite of that small annoyance and I would recommend it for anyone who enjoys a good mystery!

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

Anonymous

More than 1 year ago

Nice British mystery! I would love to see all of this author's made available on the Nook!

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